Eternal Damnation
by Azareth Sakura
Summary: For a moment, they paused, their heavy panting the only audible sound in the darkened room. She felt nothing. And then suddenly, as though the nothing had been the calm before the storm, she felt something. She felt as though she was burning, on fire.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing but the plot.

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**Eternal Damnation**  
By Azareth Sakura

For a moment, they paused, their heavy panting the only audible sound in the darkened room. She felt nothing. In that moment, the passion waned from separation and need to breathe, then waxed with uncontrollable lust, or was it love? Just as she was beginning to miss the feeling of their mouth-on-mouth connection, it waxed. And then suddenly, as though the nothing had been the calm before the storm, she felt something.

She felt as though she was burning, as though she was on fire. Molten, and hot, the heat threatened to overtake her, consume her body in its flames and leave in its wake naught but ashes to be scattered carelessly by the wind wherever it deigned to roam. Idly, she mused that this did not sound so bad. To be free forever, free from the rules and regulations, free from her duties as the sole ruler of Dalmasca, and instead to just simply float, and flitter, flying through the sky wherever, and whenever. That was probably why he was so at loath to cast away his role as sky pirate, she figured.

This heat was not unbearable, nor was it unwelcome.

His lips traveled her body, moving from her chest to her collar bone, then up her neck, and behind her ear, and then he licked her ear, and she could just _feel_ him smirking as she moaned and arched up, pressing her chest up flush with his. Each place kissed by those lips burned, igniting a trail of fire up her body, and it was so hot— she felt as though she was burning, as though she was on fire.

But Oh, _Gods_, this was torture, bittersweet in its form, and then this became Heaven and that became Hell. And if this is what damnation felt like, then _yes_, she'd gladly become the sinner, she'd welcome being the damned. She knew that here, at least, she wouldn't be alone, because really, he'd be coming right to Hell with her. After all, he was what brought her here.

He was temptation, and she became tempted. He set out to be her seducer, and she became the seduced, but never once was she unwilling. When he was there, a rare occasion, indeed, she knew she wasn't alone.

She wished she could attribute all this to loneliness. Her mother had died at an early age. The only man she had ever truly loved (in the same way she was starting to love _him_), Rasler, died tragically soon after their wedding, and then finally, her father was not too far afterward. As those last couple events took place, anxiety and fear (for her life, mostly), caused her to temporarily forget the grief and sorrow, and instead focus on vengeance, as well as hope for the safety of her people.

When she started her journey, with those people she now could honestly call friends, companions even, she used her vengeance as her focal point. But there were times when the sadness would encompass her, and she would mourn and grieve as best she could to herself. Vaan knew of her troubles, for he too could see the apparition. And he did what he could to try and alleviate that pain; he shared with her his own stories of his passed parents and brother, so that she wouldn't feel alone.

He'd helped her in another way, albeit more subtle, so subtle, she hadn't even been able to realize what he was doing until it was done. He had started with the ring. The wedding ring she'd worn, as a promise to forget neither him, nor her love for him. He had taken it from her as a form of "payment" for his and his partner's accompaniment. And she gave it up, because she realized the needs of her country before those of her.

She never did forget either promise. But without the constant reminder of her beloved's death adorning her finger, she felt some of that restraint loosen.

He was hard to figure out. His manner was perpetually glib, charming and carefree, in a way which she inwardly envied. From the beginning, the two of them were unlikely. Verbally sparring, they battled a war of wit against each other, each blow parried by the other until finally, one would leave with the last word. And it was often him.

Somewhere along the line, however, the annoyance she associated with him crossed that fine line between love and hate (though she had never truly hated him). That day, when the battle ended, when she thought he had died, she remembered her feelings with excruciating clarity. Her heard felt like it had been ripped out of her chest, and it, in its mangled, bruised, and bloody form lay broken on the floor behind her as she was forced to put on her mask of princess, soon to be queen.

That night, she realized, she was alone. Again.

It had to be a curse, she said to herself. All those whom she had loved ended up dead. And so she cried because she finally admitted to herself that _yes_, the feelings she carried for him were more than platonic. She was unsure of whether it was simply lust or something deeper, but if how anguished she had been during his "death" was any indication, then, well, not only was she a sinner and the damned, but also a victim of the much accursed love.

Penelo had delivered his message to her, before the coronation. She remembered that leather pouch well; she had oft seen it on his person. As she had held it upside down, the ring tumbled down. That, she had caught in her outstretched palm. The other offering, the scrap of parchment with his message scrawled out in his neatly sloppy writing fluttered to the ground and with it, her heart fluttered too, because he was _alive_.

She searched for him in the crowd at her coronation after that, but he was not present. Or so it had seemed.

That night, after all the celebrations and festivities had come to a close, and she was alone in her darkened room to rest her weary self, she had seen him. He was outside, leaning on her balcony, elbows on top of the surface.

At first she had not seen him, but the heat of his gaze and the humming in her ears that something was not right led her to look around and see him. She opened the glass doors that separated, and walked outside into the cool night air. He strode forward then, stopping until she was almost pressed up against the wall behind her.

"Princess," he had teased her, knowing full well she was the princess no longer. "It's been a while."

She said nothing, and instead stood on her toes, and pulled him down to her, where she captured his lips in a kiss. A kiss which had been anything but innocent. Her hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and then she was pressed into that wall, his larger hands roaming her body.

Suddenly, it wasn't so cold outside anymore.

Somehow, they'd made it to her bed, and now she was hot and on fire, but it was the good kind, so that made it all alright.

He was chuckling now, close to her ear. The exhalations of his breath were so _hot_ as they hit against her ear. This heat would be the death of her, and as his fingers skimmed her skin, she writhed beneath him burning, oh how she was burning! She could feel the rumbling of the vibrations from his laugh, as they were still pressed together, on her bed. His taller frame lay atop her smaller one, but it was not uncomfortable. He kissed her then, and she responded, lightly biting down his lower lip with her teeth. He obliged her request, and then their tongues danced out the rest together and all her thoughts of loneliness vanished.

Here he was, binding himself forever to her side, in exchange for what, exactly? Her? Or maybe it was that eternal damnation she'd thought it was. She was certainly feeling the flames from that.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her, caressing the side of her face with his free hand.

"W..Why do you stop?" She asked, as she nuzzled his hand with her cheek.

"It seems," he ginned at her, "even with my ministrations you still hold onto thought. Not fair, really."

And once again, the battle of wit was waging, she smirked up at him a smirk worthy of him, himself, "Well then, Sir Pirate, you will have to try a little harder."

_I truly condemn myself to damnation_, she thought, as the look on his face grew positively feral. Wild and animalistic, his grin became all the more devious as he said to her, "We're only just beginning, Princess."

And then again, she felt as though she was burning, as though she was on fire.

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**Author's note**: I must say, I'm really rather fond of the Balthier/Ashe pairing. Anyway, I don't quite know where this idea came from, and it's the first time I've ever written anything like this so… yeah. I hope you liked it. I'm not positive I got the Old English style of speaking down with the few bits of conversation I did include, but oh well. I tried. Thank you for reading (: Happy holidays.


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